Otto brought a bottle of chilled Bollinger. He poured two glasses and left.
“To freedom,” Natasha said.
Nadia thought of Bobby. “To freedom.”
They clinked their glasses and drank.
“How do you like the décor?” Natasha said.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s Candy & Candy, the top interior designers in London.”
“In a masculine way.”
“I’m a devout heterosexual. Masculine is gorgeous to me. My husband. One thing I can say about the bastard—may he rest in peace. He only wanted the best.”
“I’m sorry about your loss. I mean, where your husband is concerned.”
“Don’t be. You know what they say in London? You want a romance, date a Russian. But if you want a good marriage, marry an Englishman.”
“How did you meet?”
“Through a dating service. He was older, you know? He knew how to treat a woman. He bought me gifts. Flowers, jewelry. We didn’t have sex until our fourth date. Next day, he bought me a Mini Cooper. Who does that?”
“A gentleman.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“No?”
“The night of our wedding, when he was finished with me, he sent his son in for sloppy seconds.”
Nadia wondered if she’d heard correctly.
“He said it was an old tribal custom from the village where his ancestors came from in Russia.”
“Oh my God.”
“By then I was so drunk, I couldn’t fight him off. He wouldn’t stop. It went on for hours. And became a regular thing.”
“Why didn’t you leave? Or call the police?”
“Because Ivan would have killed me. So I stayed. And now I’m single and rich. I earned my money.”
“Yes. I should say so.”
“And today I buried the father of my child. May he rot in hell.”
“I’m sorry for your suffering,” Nadia said.
“Honestly, I’m glad I have someone to talk to. Sometimes it’s easier to pour it all out to a complete stranger. Once you get to know someone, you care too much what they think of you.”
“I was thinking the same thing recently.”
“You know what my husband said to me on his deathbed?”
Nadia shook her head.
“Bury me at Harrods. That way I know you’ll visit me at least once a week.” Natasha tightened her jaw. “I didn’t bury him at Harrods.”
They drank more champagne. A petite young nanny came downstairs with a baby girl. Natasha held her baby and fell into a trance. She carried her around the living room for ten minutes. She sang a lullaby. Afterward, she told the nanny to give her a bath.
“What do you know about your late husband’s life in Russia?” Nadia said.
“Not much. I know he owned a lumber company in Siberia.”
“Siberia?”
“That’s what he told me. That’s where his money came from. He got dividends every year. Supposedly I’m going to inherit the company. But it’s Russia, right? We’ll see if I’m so lucky. No matter, Ivan accumulated a big bank account for me here.”
“Do you know how he came to own the company? Russia was part of the Soviet Union during most of his life. It was a communist country. He couldn’t have owned the company back then.”
“Yeah. He told me a story about those days. He said he put in an order for a new car once. A month later the salesman called and said, ‘Good news. Your car will be delivered exactly six years from today.’ Ivan said, ‘That is great news. Do you know if it’s going to be delivered in the morning or the afternoon?’ The salesman said, ‘Why?’ Ivan said, ‘Because I already have an appointment with the plumber in the afternoon.’ ”
“My father told me the same story about life in Ukraine.”
“He did? Damn. I should have known. Ivan wasn’t the creative type. He was a general manager before he owned the lumber company.”
“A general manager? Of the lumber company?”
“No, for some government office. He said he was an administrator for the government.”
A government official, Nadia thought. A Soviet bureaucrat. An apparatchik. Apparatchiks controlled the former Soviet Union, including Ukraine. Was there, perhaps, a connection between the old man and Bobby’s father? They were of the same generation, probably similar in age. If only his father were alive to answer that question.
“Let me show you a picture,” Natasha said.
She retrieved a photo album from a cabinet. She flipped to a family portrait of her, a vigorous-looking man twice her age, and his handsome son, Jonathan Valentine. The older man looked imperial, the younger one entitled. The older one sported a huge gold ring with a black gemstone carved into the number three.
“There we are,” Natasha said. “The threesome. Together. And that wasn’t the only time and place we were a threesome.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed this picture?”
“What for?”
“I want to show it to Bobby. You never know. Maybe it’ll get him to talk to me.”
Natasha shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll make a copy as soon as I get home. I’ll send you the original back in the mail.”
“Don’t. It reminds me of the night before that picture was taken. That’s one I’d rather forget. Like some others.”
Natasha took the photo out of the album and handed it to Nadia.
“Did you ever hear either of them talk about a boy in America?” Nadia said.
“No.”
“By the name of Bobby?”
“Never. But you have to understand. Ivan only spoke Russian to Jonathan. He changed his son’s name because he didn’t want him to be discriminated against in London. But he taught him Russian. When they got together, I didn’t understand much. That’s how they wanted it. And I didn’t mind.”
“Did Ivan have any business in America?”
“Not as far as I know. It was all in Siberia.”
“Why did Jonathan move to New York?”
“Because London wasn’t big enough for him. He said New York was the center of the world. And that’s where he was going to make his fortune. I did everything I could to encourage it, believe me.”
“I’m sure you did. I suspect his father wasn’t happy.”
“No, but he could never say no to his son. Jonathan wanted to be Donald Trump. Actually, he wanted to be one of Donald Trump’s sons. He worshipped them. He wanted to make his mark on the world in New York real estate. So he moved to New York and got a degree. And his father got him a job at some big real estate company through his contacts here. And bought him an apartment. Should I keep it or sell it?”
“Do you see yourself visiting New York often?”
“Are you going to tell Simmy about me?”
“If the opportunity arises, yes.”
“Then I’ll keep it. For now. And Bobby? How old is he?”
“Seventeen.”
“And they’re keeping him in prison?”
“Yes.”
“He must be scared.”
“Yes. But he never shows it.”
“And you believe he’s innocent?”
“He’s innocent, yes.”
“Then I hope he’s set free soon.”
“Me too.”
“As you go about trying to prove he’s innocent, if you run into Jonathan’s real killer, would you give him a message from me?”
“What’s that?”
Natasha took a deep breath and exhaled. “Tell him I said thanks.”
CHAPTER 20
LIGHTS SHONE ON the Tower of London. Stars glittered. A ship with a mast passed under Tower Bridge.
A model in an embroidered Russian dress greete
d Nadia on the slip at St. Katherine Docks. Two beefy men dressed as Cossacks flanked her. Laughter and Russian folk music flowed from Simeon Simeonovich’s gigayacht behind her.
The model cast a disapproving look at Nadia’s business suit. “Name?” She spoke with a Russian accent.
“Nadia Tesla.”
She checked her computer and frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it here.”
Nadia switched to Russian. “I was a last-second addition.”
The model’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She glanced at Nadia’s pants. “Yes. I guess so,” she said in Russian. “May I see your invitation?”
“I don’t have one.” Nadia handed her a business card. “But I do have an appointment.” She checked her watch. “Mr. Simeonovich is expecting me in his office in seven minutes.”
The model gawked. “You’re the one?” She tossed her head back and laughed.
“If you’re talking about his meeting with the forensic investment analyst he hired, yes, I’m the one. Why is that so funny?”
“It’s funny because he wouldn’t give me your name. All he did was describe you. And you’re not what I expected. In fact, I have to be honest with you. I was looking forward to meeting you all night, and now I’m so disappointed.”
“I’m going to make a wild guess it’s not the first time.”
“What, that he was mischievous with me?”
“No. That you were disappointed. How did he describe me?”
“As having the biggest set of balls he’s ever seen.”
Nadia climbed aboard the yacht. She’d read about the eight hundred million dollar boat in an online financial magazine. It featured a military-grade missile defense system, armor plating, and bulletproof windows. It also boasted two helipads, two pools, and a paparazzi-proof electronic anti-photo shield with a laser beam. There was some doubt in the press whether the latter worked, but no one had the pictures to prove it didn’t.
Crew outnumbered guests two to one. They poured vintage 1999 Bollinger champagne, Legend of Kremlin vodka, and 1989 Château Petrus. The women varied in ages but the men were all older. Everyone wore traditional Russian clothes except Nadia.
A crewmember escorted Nadia to a teak office. The only personal touches were the family photos aligned on a console behind the desk. Two children, a boy and a girl, pre-teens, and the girlfriend. The first wife had been a chemist. The girlfriend was a former violinist for the Vienna Philharmonic turned fashion designer.
Simeonovich was on the phone when Nadia walked in. He stood up as soon as he saw her. Cut the call short. When he greeted her, he extended his hand and bowed a bit. After they shook hands, he joined her in the seating area.
Nadia had decided ahead of time to speak English unless he did otherwise. If she started speaking Russian to him it might imply she thought his English was inferior.
“I didn’t realize it was a costume party,” Nadia said. “If I had known…”
“Yes? If you had known?”
“I’d be wearing the exact same suit.”
He chuckled.
Something stirred inside Nadia. The way he bowed and stood up when she came into the room reminded her of old school chivalry. And he was the thirty-seventh richest man in the world. Nadia wanted him to like her, and the realization surprised her. She had no time or energy to think about romance let alone engage in it.
“Why the Cossack theme?” Nadia said.
“My ancestors were Cossacks in southern Russia during the seventeenth century.”
“Mine were with the Ukrainian Cossacks that rebelled against Poland in the seventeenth century.”
“How did that turn out?”
“The leader of the Cossacks made a treaty with the tsar. After he died, Russia took over the country. Ukraine ended up under Russian control for the next three hundred years.”
“You’re an American but this matters to you,” he said. “Your Ukrainian heritage is important to you.”
“You’re right, Mr. Simeonovich. I’m an American.”
“Call me Simmy, please. I’m not a fan of physical warfare. It’s a waste of life and energy. I served two years in the Russian army on the Chinese border. We had a few incidents that never made it to the press. And at those moments I used to think, I hope I do not die this way, over a petty border dispute. War is inevitable but it should be fought on the economic front. What do you think?”
“I agree. War is inevitable.”
“You are a warrior, aren’t you?”
“I’m just a woman trying to pay her rent.”
“I disagree. The test Ehren put you through to get this job. That was war, wasn’t it?”
“It was a battle.”
“What was your strategy?”
Nadia explained how she decided to focus on the owner of the companies instead of the financial statements. “I had to step out of my comfort zone to win.”
“You were the only candidate to name all three companies.”
“I got lucky.”
“And the only one to tell my driver to tell me she was looking forward to working with me.”
“I have your investment banker, Ehren, to thank for that.”
“Why Ehren?”
“He’s such a sweet and humble guy. He was desperate for me to win. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”
Simeonovich’s lip curled upward. “You didn’t disappoint, period.”
Nadia felt herself blushing. “So what’s the job?”
“Forget the industrial company for now. There’s a new development. I’m circling an energy company in Ukraine. It’s public, listed on the Ukrainian Stock Exchange, but so what? I have no confidence in the integrity of the financials. I need someone to turn them inside out. Also study the reserve analysis. Verify all outstanding indebtedness, triple-check the ownership structure, basically vet the entire enterprise top to bottom.”
“What’s your timetable?”
“Yesterday.”
“I understand. What’s your real timetable?”
“Seven days. Preferably less. You can get started on the financials in New York but you’re going to have to go to Kyiv at some point. I want you to meet their CFO in person. The sooner the better.”
Nadia had no idea how she would juggle the job and get Bobby out of jail but she had no choice. “I’ll have my initial scrubbing done within forty-eight hours. I’ll be in Kyiv within three days. I’ll be done with the entire project in one week’s time, assuming management is cooperative. Is that a fair assumption?”
“Sure. Management loves me.”
“They do?”
“Take a corporate raider, mix in ethnic tension, what’s not to love?”
“But they will talk to me, right?”
“They better if they value their jobs. As of today I’m the largest single shareholder.”
A knock on the door. A young woman entered. Nadia recognized her from the picture on his desk. The girlfriend.
“Young Rothschild might make a big donation if you come out and talk football with him,” she said in Russian.
Simeonovich cringed. He’d just bought one of England’s top professional soccer teams, the second oligarch to do so after Roman Abramovich. “Is this absolutely necessary?”
“Only if you don’t want to sleep alone tonight. I already put myself out there and told him you’d come out. Be a big boy now, would you please?” The girlfriend glanced at Nadia, dismissed her with a sour look, and closed the door behind.
“Donation?” Nadia said.
“I’m raising money for a hospital in Chukotka,” Simeonovich said. “You know Chukotka?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Nadia said. In fact, she knew it intimately. It was the northeastern-most part of Siberia. But that wasn’t the reason her blood pressure spiked. “It’s in Siberia, isn
’t it?” Valentine had earned his fortune in Siberia.
“It is. My foundation is putting money into the region to modernize it. Raise the living standards. And the answer to your question is no. I didn’t know Ivan Valentin or his son. We were part of the same community, but we travelled in different circles.”
Nadia was speechless.
“You seem surprised. You didn’t expect me to do a background check on you? I know you’re guardian to a boy accused of Jonathan Valentin’s murder. I know you went to his funeral yesterday. I know you had coffee at the widow Valentin’s house.”
Nadia expected him to do a background check, and possibly be informed about her presence at Valentin’s funeral. But she didn’t expect him to deduce the reason she’d asked him if Chukotka was in Siberia. Nadia swallowed her shock and seized the opportunity to match wits with him.
“Her name’s Natasha. She’s actually very nice. She’s a big fan. She’d like to meet you.”
“That’s sweet, but she’s not my type.”
“Why? Too tough?”
“No. Too obvious.”
“Is my situation in New York with Bobby—the boy who was arrested—going to be a problem for you?”
“Look. I created a competition among the best analysts in the world with the language skills I need. You won. You’re the best. I don’t care what else is going on in your life as long as you get the job done. Are you going to get the job done?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I need to know. In a minute, my chief financial officer is going to come in here. He’s going to give you access to a secured website that will have all the financials you need to get started on your analysis. He’ll also give you his contact information in case you have questions.”
“I’ll start work immediately.”
Simeonovich grabbed a business card from a holder and scribbled something on the back. “This is my cell phone number. I want you to call me every day at four p.m. with an update on your progress. Not 3:59. Not 4:01. Four p.m. London time.”
“Done.”
“Also, you should know that we stress family values at the Orel Group. That’s very important to me because I’m trying to build a company that lasts, not make a quick buck. So while you’re my employee for the next few weeks, please consider yourself part of that family. Consider me at your disposal if there’s anything I can do to help you.”
The Boy Who Stole From the Dead Page 11